


stray bullets and selfless valets

by Nara_stories



Category: Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon, Outlander & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Book: The Scottish Prisoner, Employer/Employee relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Injury, M/M, Mild canon divergence, Sex after an injury / while hurt, Spoilers, a bit of crying, but there are some feels too, description of treating an injury, it's softer than I'm making it sound, this all at the same time mind you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23739475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nara_stories/pseuds/Nara_stories
Summary: “You’re shivering, me lord,” Tom mumbled pushing his hands away stubbornly, probably to try and undress him, not noticing the fault in his logic, namely that he was shivering just as badly.Sweet Jesus. This stupid, selfless boy.Written for the Outlander Bingo 2020 - for the square "After an Injury / While Hurt".Set in the timeline of The Scottish Prisoner, with the mild deviation that after Tom gets shot he and John doesn't find the boat again.
Relationships: Tom Byrd/Lord John Grey
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32
Collections: Outlander Bingo Challenge





	stray bullets and selfless valets

**Author's Note:**

> Tom is a sweet little cupcake, and I often think he's younger than he actually is. In case you feel the same way some disclaimer about the ages of the characters might be necessary for your peace of mind:  
> \- Tom was born in 1740  
> \- John in 1729  
> \- The Scottish Prisoner is set in 1760, which puts Tom at 20 and John at 31

“W-we need to g-go back a-and find them, m-me lord.”

John firmly closed and locked the door and turned towards his young valet. His soaked and shivering valet, who looked like he could collapse at any second, and who still had a bullet in his arm.

Oh, Christ.

“No, Tom,” he said gently. “I would rather tend to your injury first if you don’t mind.”

He didn’t think Fraser and Quinn left them there on purpose after they went to the trouble of helping him escape first. It was more likely that they’ve lost them after the guards started shooting and they both fell into the water.

John didn’t want to waste too much time looking for them, not with the guards on their heels and Tom only being held back from bleeding out with his two dirty stockings. So he dragged his half-conscious valet through the dark to the next village and knocked on the door of the first house that still had light shining through the windows. He had some money on him and was still in uniform – even if that uniform was dirty and wet, and he also had his polite and composed speech to convince the owners that he was no thief masquerading as an English soldier.

Only an English soldier who was recently arrested for murder – even if he did not commit that crime – but they didn’t need to know that.

Of course, he took a gamble in hoping the news of his arrest hasn’t reached this village yet – but it was something he didn’t even think twice about. Tom needed a warm room, dry clothes and some medical attention and he would be damned not to do everything in his power to keep this brave young man alive.

He told the family that his valet injured himself by accident and asked for some supplies – warm water, strong alcohol, needle, thread and clean cloth. He didn’t tell them Tom was shot, to avoid any suspicion and for the same reason refused any offer of help. He did accept the herbal ointment the wife of the owner pressed into his hand, just in case, even if it was for bruising.

He needed to take a look at the injury and determine if he was able to take the bullet out. If yes, he was confident, they could manage. If not, they might not be staying the night after all.

But it was useless to worry about all that right now, so he forced his racing mind to calm down. He quickly shed his coat, draped it over the back of a chair and then turned towards Tom to remove his wet clothes as well.

At least he tried before Tom started protesting.  
“It’s no right, me lord,” cold fingers tried to push his away. “It should be the other way around.”

John briefly sent a prayer to whatever deity was listening and proceeded to strip the soggy coat off his quivering valet. And then he stopped again when his jumbled mind realized he can’t take the bloody thing off because of his makeshift tourniquet. He swore in German and after a moment’s hesitation decided that it was more important to make sure they won’t freeze to death first and then he would look at the wound. It was rather hard to perform surgical duties when both parties were trembling like two leaves on a particularly pathetic looking tree.

He took out his dagger and swiftly cut through the arm of Tom’s coat so that he could take the rest off. Then he threw the offending garment in the direction of the chair. He didn’t even care, it was practically ruined anyways.

He looked into Tom’s eyes – wide, brown and not entirely focused. It showed how badly shaken he was that he didn’t even complain about the maltreatment of his coat.

“You have been shot,” John said slowly. _And it is entirely my fault,_ he _didn’t_ say. “Will you let me take care of you this one time?”

Not waiting for an answer, he reached for his neckcloth. Trembling, weak fingers got in the way.  
“You’re shivering, me lord,” Tom mumbled pushing his hands away stubbornly, probably to try and undress him, not noticing the fault in his logic, namely that he was shivering just as badly.

Sweet Jesus. This stupid, selfless boy.

John ripped his neckcloth down and yanked his shirt over his head, hastily throwing it on the pile of clothes in front of the fire. It felt good not to have the wet fabric sticking to his skin, but it made him feel even more strongly about getting Tom out of his dripping clothes as well.

He clasped cold fingers into one hand, using the other to untie Tom’s neckcloth, and then peel his shirt off, mindful of his injured arm, finally cutting this garment off above the bandage as well.

If he thought the young man would cooperate from there on, he was mistaken.

“We shouldn’t be staying here, me lord. You should have left me there. If you get caught because of me…”

John put a hand on his good shoulder and steered him gently towards the desk, which was the closest furniture to the fireplace. They needed both the light and the warmth for this.

“I need to look at your arm, Tom, and if I can, take that bullet out.”

Tom strained against him, his panic turning into hysteria.  
“No, no, no, me lord, it’s not worth it…”

John took a deep breath and firmly pushed him down, chest flat on the desk, still being careful to apply pressure only to his right side. 

He, of course, has seen this before. Mostly by young soldiers, but more seasoned men were not immune to this sort of thing either. Getting shot was overwhelming on the mind as well as the body, and Tom probably needed all his willpower to hold himself together in the urgency of their situation. But once in safety, the mind was not always able to let go of that iron grip. Even if it was crucial so that they could treat the injury.

He needed to snap him out of it, for his own sanity as much as for John’s. He considered slapping him, but he already manoeuvred him into a good position for potentially getting that pesky bullet out. He bent down and spoke directly into Tom’s ear. 

“You have two choices, my dear. You can stay still and let me look at your arm. Or I can take you right here and now, and fuck you until you can’t move a muscle.”

He didn’t exactly know where the words were coming from. But they were apparently the right ones because Tom drew in a sharp breath and sagged against the desk.

And then he let out a low whine that clouded John’s mind quite a bit.

He straightened up, quickly taking his hand off his valet.  
“I… I, of course, didn’t mean that.” Tom craned his neck, big brown eyes looking up at him, pleading… for what, John didn’t want to look at closely. He drew in a breath to compose himself. “My intention was only to startle you, and now, that you are actually _listening_ to me, we can…”

His words trailed off as Tom decided to unfasten his breeches and John suddenly found himself staring at his naked, freckled, and frankly lovely backside. His mouth suddenly went dry.

“If I’m to die,” Tom spoke up in a shaky, urgent whisper. ”I want to have this… I-I want you to have me.”

“You’re not going to die, Tom,” John objected fiercely.

At the same time, he found himself gently placing a hand on Tom’s skin, thumb stroking along the swell of his ass. It has never occurred to him to think about Tom in this way. At least, he corrected himself, he didn’t allow himself to think about him in this way.  
But now, that the option was on the table, he couldn’t think about anything else.

Tom pushed his legs further apart and John’s breath hitched.  
“Please, me lord. P-please!”

This was, frankly, a terrible idea. 

John reached for the herbal ointment, coating his fingers, finding himself almost completely hard in his breeches. If this was what Tom needed as comfort, to make him feel better… If this was what it took for him to let him tend to his injury…

Tom moaned, when he trailed his fingers down the cleft of his ass, pushing one in gently.

“Are you sure?” John asked, even while pumping his finger.

Tom shivered, and John saw the gooseflesh run down on his spine in the firelight.

“Yes,” he pushed back enthusiastically, only to raise himself onto his toes with a surprised little yelp when John slid another finger inside his body.

John chuckled, feeling his prick strain against the wet fabric of his trousers. He let go of all the reasons why this was a bad idea. If Tom needed this – really needed this – and he clearly did, then he was prepared to give it to him.

“I’m quite a bit thicker than my finger Tom, so you’ll have to relax if you truly want this.”

Tom did lower himself down to his heels, and John felt his muscles ease their grip around his fingers, allowing him to stretch him further.  
“I’m going to make it feel so good for you,” he promised, earning a little moan in return.

It was the complete look of trust on Tom’s face that took the last bits of his reservation away and he suddenly couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to be inside of him.

He stripped down completely with shaking hands and coated himself liberally in the ointment. 

Tom panted and grasped the edge of the desk with his right hand when John lined himself up. His body was tight, but John was able to slide in with little resistance. He did not wait for Tom to catch his breath but sought out a steady rhythm.

Tom let out a little whimper.

John let his intuition guide him. He experienced this sometimes while being with another. This inexplicable _knowing_ of what the other needed. He placed a hand on the young man’s hip, keeping him in place, anchoring him, while he continued to thrust hard and deep. He let the words fall off his lips as they came into his mind.

“That’s it, Tom. Just let it go. You were so brave for me. So brave, and so beautiful. Just let it go, I’m taking care of you now.”

And he meant every single word, it wasn’t just the tight heat around his member clouding his judgement. Tom _was_ fiercely loyal, proving this by coming after him and braver than anyone usually gave him credit for. And he _was_ beautiful bent over like this. John found himself staring at his damp, unruly dark hair, and at his pale skin adorned with a hint of freckles. He was a vision in the warm glow of the fire, tights spread wide for him, pink balls drawn up high, rocking from every movement, and bloody hell… John almost came from watching how easily he took each of his thrusts. 

But not yet. First, he wanted to make sure that Tom was well and truly cared for.

He reached around, cupping his palm over Tom’s leaking hardness. He was smaller than average and John enjoyed how comfortably he fit into his hand. He stroked Tom, angling his thrusts so. The boy bit his lips and screwed his eyes shut, face flushing even more.

John let the words bubble up in his chest again.

“You can cry if you need to.”

And Tom did, big teardrops escaping between his dark lashes, lips parting to let out a relieved exhale.

John probably couldn’t have continued if it sounded like Tom was hurting. But his broken little sobs were mixed with moans of pleasure and he pressed his erection eagerly into John’s hand. So he didn’t stop, intuitively feeling that it wasn’t gentleness that Tom needed right now, at least not yet.

He felt the moment Tom completely surrendered to him, body going pliant, soft and open. Sobs ceasing to give place to little breathless sounds in tandem with John’s movement.

John did not slow down. If anything he thrust harder and deeper, enjoying the way Tom did not resist at all. 

It wasn’t long before Tom cried out, coming all over his hand, body fluttering around him. It only took a few more thrusts before John came as well, pleasure running down his spine, spilling himself deep inside Tom’s body. He curled over Tom, panting, his vision going blurry around the edges.

John leaned on to his forearm, to catch his breath, steadying himself while making sure he didn’t put his weight on the young man. Distracted, he placed a tiny kiss on Tom’s shoulder blade while he waited for his legs to start functioning again.

When he felt like he wouldn’t collapse, he straightened up, pulling out slowly, closing his eyes briefly at the obscene sound they’ve made. He trailed a gentle hand down Tom’s spine.  
“Stay, I’ll clean you up,” he murmured.

He needn’t have worried, Tom was still sprawled on the desk in the same position by the time he got back with the damp, warm cloth.  
There was a small smile on his lips, and he let out a contented sigh before opening his eyes. There was a lightness between them now, even while John was wiping his own seed from Tom’s skin.

“I knew you would be so good in this, me lord,” he announced. 

John chuckled.

“Well, I’m glad to hear at least one of us was prepared for this possibility.”

He bent down and on pure impulse placed a kiss on Tom’s flushed, tearstained cheek.

“You let me take that damned bullet out now, will you?”

The room warmed up nicely from the fire, but they were still naked, so John took the sheets of the bed, wrapping one around his waist, and draping the other over Tom’s lower half. Then he brought over all the supplies he asked for.

The alcohol turned out to be reasonably good brandy, so he offered it to Tom and helped him take a few sips. Then he placed his belt next to his hand.  
“You can bite down on it if it really hurts.”

Only then did he pull up a chair and undid Tom’s hasty bandages, peeling back the layers of blood-soaked fabric in between.

The wound was still bleeding a bit, although not much. John used the brandy to clean it out while gently prodding around to determine where the bullet got stuck. He found it intact, as a hard lump just underneath the skin on the other side and he let out a relieved breath.

He was no doctor, but he was a soldier, and so he knew a few things about these sort of injuries. If the bullet struck bone or exploded to pieces he wouldn’t have been able to do anything. But luckily it was only a flesh wound, the bullet going in on the front and almost coming out on the back. It was probably fired from afar, otherwise, it would have gone straight through.

John remembered a night in Ardsmuir prison when his orderly cut himself badly on a piece of broken glass during dinner with Fraser and the man insisted on treating the wound himself the way his healer wife would have. He told him some outlandish theory about ‘wee beasties’ that shouldn’t get into the wound and while John didn’t exactly believe in them he found himself thinking of the woman and following that advice as best as he could. He would not risk Tom’s life out of spite and jealousy.

He washed his hands and mentally steadied himself for what needed to be done.

“It might be best if you drank some more of that brandy.” 

After helping Tom do just that he passed the blade of his dagger through the flame of a candle, then wiped it down with the alcohol. He also threaded a needle and dipped both needle and thread into the brandy, before picking the knife back up.

Tom whimpered in pain when he pinched the skin around the bullet and John saw his knuckles go white where he gripped the edge of the table. He made a soothing sound, then as quickly as he could he made a precise cut on the skin. Blood rushed out, and it only took a little push with his fingers and the bullet clattered on the table. He clamped a cloth over the wound and stroked Tom’s back comfortingly.

“It’s out.”

He cleaned Tom’s arm with alcohol again, ignoring the young man’s yelp of pain and then went to stitch both wounds together, feeling grateful that his needlework was as neat as any young maid’s.

Finally, he bandaged Tom’s arm with a clean cloth and helped him stand. He picked up the bullet from the table, wiped it down and then pressed it into the young man’s palm with a smile.

Tom beamed up at him, clutching the sheet around his waist in one hand and the bullet in the other visibly giddy from nerves, pain and pleasure.

John stepped closer. He gently placed a finger on Tom’s chin, looking into his eyes seriously.

“Tom, you are still my valet, and I don’t want that to change. So we will not speak of what has happened unless you bring it up. And I will not touch you intimately again unless you explicitly ask me to.”

He was well aware of how much power he had over Tom and he didn’t want to chance it ruining their relationship.

But Tom merely nodded, and John didn’t see hurt or regret in his eyes. So he smiled.

“However, I do think this familiarity permits us to share this comfortable bed for the night, even in the absence of our clothing.”

He let Tom lay down on the bed while he went and sorted out the heap of wet clothing on the floor. He tried to hang them up as best as he could around the fireplace so that they would dry until the morning.

Then he carefully sat on the edge of the bed, blew out the candle and then slid under the covers. He let Tom curl up as close to him as he could with this bandaged arm, and then after a moment of hesitation, he draped an arm protectively across his waist.

He told himself it would not happen again. But for now, he let himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of Tom’s even breathing.


End file.
